I find myself creatively overwhelmed this time of year. It’s an annual event. For example, last year as I hobbled between a cartooning class, a month-long novel project build-up and writing, my general photographic efforts, and the onslaught of a massive web-redesign at work — I found myself thinking, on more than one occasion, the magnitude and drain of working my right-brain at such a pace. Then Christmas hits. Then Spring. Then Summer. And at the end of that nine-month stretch I’m suddenly feeling lost and disjointed — and lacking in that outlet of mental energy that keeps my sanity in check, though some would surely beg to differ. This year, again, is no exception. For starters, were building a house. (A house. A whole house!) And houses, well, they are more creative than one might imagine. The photo-ventures continue. We’re off to Disneyland in a few weeks, though I don’t know if that counts. I’m also taking an art class through Grant MacEwan College on Thursday nights. And now, I’m planning on taking on the pulse of another microcosmic world — to write fifty-thousand words of yet-to-be-determined prose. It is the creative winterfall. It is the push towards the long haul through snow and cold. It is my vent, and it’s tough to explain to a idle reader who is without that volcano brewing under the scalp. —– |
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The Heartfelt & Dramatic Push For Something Better >> It is why I continue. You don't need to understand much more than that. There is method to this madness that has encapsulated my steps as I walk another stretch on this strange adventure. There is purpose here, and
add >> And one more to add some thought to the inevitable... Karin and I drove west on Tuesday morning. It rained the entire time and with the extra weight in the car it was an interesting drive. Actual scene from the inside
tip-toeing towards it >> It had been about eight or nine days since we visited the lot slash neighborhood slash showhome slash builder, so we dropped by on Saturday for a push-things-along visit. Progress is fleeting, though only from our anxious perspective. Apparently much is going on behind
Last night >> Last night - at about quarter past ten - I thought that we were being bombed. I was sitting in bed reading, relaxing, and letting the warm spring breezing push through the windows and cool down my overheated apartment. There
